


Oasis

by Evaine



Series: The Jamie and Squirt Chronicles [7]
Category: Metallica
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evaine/pseuds/Evaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James has something on his mind. This story takes place in early 1996, during the recording of the 'Load' album. (Written: June 2005)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oasis

“Why the fuck did you have to hit him?” He sighed and looked at me with that disapproving gaze of his. Which only served to anger me more.

“He fucking annoys the shit out of me sometimes.” I slammed my fist onto the cymbal a second time.

“Yeah, well, you’re pretty fucking easy to annoy these days, buddy.” He snorted softly, and I snarled under my breath.

“I got things on my mind, okay?” I watched him pace through narrowed eyes. Never still, he was never fucking still, and today it was annoying the crap out of me, on top of everything else.

“I noticed.”

“Ah, what the fuck do you know about it,” I muttered. I raised my fist to whack the cymbal again.

“I know you’ve been like this since we came back from our week off. Fucking pain in the ass. Never happy with anything or anyone, picking fights all over the fucking place. Drinking yourself stupid every night.” Lars shoved his hands deep into his jeans pockets and stopped his damned pacing, thank God. “What the hell is up your ass anyway?” he demanded.

“Nothing.” Damned if I was going to tell him what was bothering me when I could hardly figure it out myself. I ran both hands through my hair. Fuck! I still wasn’t used to the shortness. Why the hell had I let him and Kirk talk me into this hair-cutting crap?

“Bullshit.” He took a step toward me and I glared. Gave him that patented ‘Hetfield’ look that usually works wonders. Well, it works wonders on just about everyone but the damned drummer. He took another step forward. “James, what the hell is going on with you?” Fuck, did he have to use that tone with the underlying wistfulness? “I get back from Boston and it’s like you have all these new walls up. What the fuck?” He sounded truly puzzled. “You’ve been even more short-fused than normal, man, touchy and picking fights with everyone, especially me… James, what the fuck?”

“Just leave it.” Suddenly I didn’t want to deal with this any longer. Didn’t want to deal with him being all concerned. Didn’t want to have to squirm under that questioning green gaze… ‘cause it _was_ fucking making me squirm. “I’ll apologize to Jase tomorrow, all right? I mean, it’s not like it’s the first time I’ve ever given him a split lip or vice versa, is it?” Definitely time for a change of subject.

“We’ll never get this fucking album finished at this rate.” Lars sighed. “You and Jason beating on each other, Kirk screaming like a banshee at the both of you, you and me sniping at each other all day. Fuck, even Bob’s been disappearing for hours on end because he can’t stand the drama any more – it’s fucking nuts!”

“Well, why the fuck did you have to go to Boston anyway?” I knew I sounded whiney and sullen and I hated myself for it – and hated him for making me sound that way. “Never mind - not my place.” I waved a hand dismissively, knowing I had just stepped over a line. A line I had sworn I wasn’t going to cross.

“You know why,” Lars said quietly. “I went to see a friend. A guy needs his friends sometimes.” There was hurt in those eyes now. Fuck, did he realise how much he spoke with those eyes of his?

“You have friends here.”

“Not like him.” I wished he would yell at me, swear at me, rant… anything but this quiet, almost sad tone that was tearing at what little was left of my composure. I was angry, I was hurt, I was confused and I longed for a drink. If I had a drink -- or five -- I could push all these thoughts from my mind and everything would be okay. I sank onto one of the tall stools scattered about the recording studio. Behind the glass, the control room was dark, Bob having sent everyone home after my latest blow-up.

“You care that much about him?” I could barely get the words out.

“What does it matter?” He was trying to be nonchalant about it, but I could feel the underlying tension over the few feet that separated us. _If it didn’t matter, why the tension?_ I silently screamed at myself to stop now, before both of us got hurt, but I never listened to anyone, not even myself.

“It matters.” That’s it, Hetfield, you fucking idiot, keep probing, keep pushing, keep picking at it until it bleeds.

“Since when?” He raised his eyebrows. “Since when has it mattered who I slept with?” Every line of his body shouted his anxiety as he began to pace again.

“It’s not that.” I shook my head. How was I going to explain it to him when I barely understood it myself?

“Then what is it, James? Tell me?” He continued his pacing, hands shoved in his pockets, head slightly bowed. I could tell he was getting annoyed again. After more than ten years, I knew the signs. And as usual, it managed to make me angrier. “We’ve been dealing with this for years. Fucking years. It’s never been a problem before. You sleep with who you want and I sleep with who I want. When you want or need me, you know I’m there. And when I want or need you, you’re there…” his voice trailed off as he came to a stop right in front of me and he looked me right in the eyes. “… If you can be.”

“It’s not about sleeping with someone.” I ground my teeth angrily. “That’s not what I’m saying.” I wished I could be as articulate as him when it came to these things, but I never had been. I hated talking about my feelings. I didn’t understand them – fuck, I didn’t even _want_ them. I glared at him, my fists clenching at my sides.

“Then what the fuck is it about?” He got right in my face, and if it had been anyone else, he’d have gone flying across the room in that instant. “What is it about my friendship with Duff that turns you into a raging lunatic? It’s no motherfucking wonder I need to get away to find some peace from time to fucking time.”

My hands shot out and grabbed him by the upper arms and I’ll give him this, he didn’t even flinch. He hadn’t been afraid of me for years. Not since that time with Mustaine. He blinked at me and waited for me to speak.

“Do you want to be with him?” I snarled, giving him a small shake. His chin tilted up belligerently and he stood his ground. In the back of my mind, I realised his attitude was turning me on, in spite of everything else I was feeling towards him at that precise moment.

“I’m with him when I need to be and that’s all you need to know.” He stared at me, his face inches from my own. I wanted to hit him then -- hit him and kiss him at the same time.

“Why the fuck can’t I give you what you want?” My grip on his arms suddenly loosened and instead of putting my fist in his face, I closed my eyes and touched my forehead to his. All I understood was that something was being taken from me, something that was mine, something that I held close; and I didn’t like it.

His hand came up and touched my arm gently. “You give me what you can, it’s enough.” He rubbed my forearm and something inside me broke. “Most times.”

“But you care for _him_ …” I could hear the anguish in my words as they forced themselves past my lips. I felt open and vulnerable and I loathed myself for it. My hands moved up to his shoulders and one thumb began moving in small circles along his collarbone. I felt a flush stain my cheeks and I bit my lip hesitantly.

“Of course I do.” His hands came to rest along the outside of my thighs, and I could feel the heat of his palms through the denim of my jeans. “He’s my friend. My good friend. Can’t you understand? We can relax when we’re together, we know exactly where we stand with each other -– no expectations, no drama, no angst. It’s like tomato soup and crackers.”

“What the fuck?” A puzzled chuckle snuck past the anger and vulnerability. Every time, every fucking time, he managed to say or do something that made me pause in whatever rant I was on and shake my head in amused confusion. This time was no different.

“Comfort food, James.” His lips curved in a small smile. “Just makes you feel better about stuff.” His hands began to move back and forth along my thighs. “See, we both know we have commitments elsewhere, commitments that we need to recharge from at times, or else take out a 7-Eleven. And it’s just easy with us. I can’t explain it any better than that.”

“I… I guess….” My head slid down so that my cheek rested on his shoulder and my arms curled around his waist. Usually it was Lars that draped himself over anyone and everyone, needing the closeness, the touching, the feel of another warm body; but this rare time I allowed it to be me. “I guess I just don’t… share well with others.” Share well? Who the fuck was I trying to kid? I didn’t share at all.

“I’m not yours to share.” His tone was quiet but firm. For once, he’d come right to the point.

“You’re my best friend. You’re my brother. You’re the only man I’ve let in my bed for years… doesn’t that mean anything?” My voice had dropped to a whisper and I couldn’t bear to look at him. Yeah, there had been encounters… few and far between… meaningless for the most part, but for all intents and purposes, he was the only man that had shared my bed for a very long time. With him it meant something.

“It means everything,” he said, rubbing his cheek gently against my temple. He needed a shave. “It’s why I’m here… now.” Yeah, he was almost always there… never far… always ready to deal with me when no one else had the balls to. I gave a huge, shuddering sigh and pulled him closer to me, thankful to feel him lean into me.

“It hurts when you go. Every time. I’m not talking about the casual shit… we both know what that means. Nothing. I’m talking about the other stuff. Stuff like McKagan. It scares me.” Yeah, I said it. I let one of my biggest fears see the light of day. Even as I struggled to understand about Duff, I prayed that Lars was able to understand me -- even if I couldn’t understand myself.

“He gives me an oasis. Can’t you see?” Lars sighed. “James, you just have to say the word and I’d give all the others up… every last one of them. But Duff… he… I just need what he gives me. Without that… fuck… I couldn’t deal. Without those small moments with him, I wouldn’t be able to be there for you.” He shook his head sadly. “I wish… I wish you could understand.”

“I’m trying….” I could feel the rage beginning to simmer again; rage at him, at me, at McKagan, at the situation. I didn’t need any more reason than that to feel angry. “I want to un--“ I raised my head, looked into those damned eyes, and suddenly the gates blew open and I was kissing Lars with all the urgency and the restrained violence that I had been trying to control for hours, it seemed. His hands came up and he buried his fingers in my hair as he returned the kiss in spades.

“Can _he_ do that?” My breathing was ragged. “Can _he_ make your eyes roll back in your head with one kiss?” My hands slid down to his ass and I pulled him into me making certain he could feel my hard on with his own rising erection. “Can _he_ make you hard with a single look?” I ran my tongue along the side of his neck, sinking my teeth into the sensitive skin at the base of it. His head bent to the side, giving me freer access even as a small, low moan escaped him. “Can _he_ make you sound like that?” My hand moved up under the back of his shirt, bringing forth another moan as I dragged my nails down his back, and I knew I had him. “Can he fuck you until you don’t know your own name?” I growled into the hollow of his neck. _”Can he?”_

“No.” The word was more a groan mingled with a gasp than anything else, and it sent my blood racing even more. “No… nobody can… Jesus, James!” As Lars said my name, his capitulation was complete and he pressed against me, dragging my head up by the hair he still grasped and captured my mouth with as much ferocity as I had shown moments earlier. Teeth ground against lips as our tongues clashed, almost weapons in our quest to devour each other. I tasted blood and wondered fleetingly if it was mine, or his, but it didn’t matter.

“Yeah, you know it.” I pulled away from him for just a moment. Our eyes were level with each other, me sitting on the stool, him standing between my legs.

“Bastard,” he whispered, and I began to smile and pull him to me again. He was going to know where he belonged and that was right where he was. He put his hands up to the neck of my shirt and curled his strong fingers around the fabric. “It works both fucking ways,” he said and yanked. Buttons pinged through the air and his hands were running over my chest, followed by his mouth, his lips, his tongue. Oh God, that mouth!

Clothes flew as we tore into each other. My fingers dug into his flesh, feeling the rippling of the muscle beneath the skin. I loved the feel of his body, all taut and hard from hours of pummelling his drums and his latest pastime of scuba diving. It was a body I knew every inch of and knew exactly how to make it quiver and respond. Knew that by running my hand along the back of his thigh I could make him press into me, grind his hard cock against mine. Knew that by sucking his nipples I could make him writhe and arch into me. Knew that by biting on the tendon of his neck where it joined his shoulder he would go weak with want. He began to circle me, much as he’d circle his drum kit during performances. He knew how to play my body, as well, as well as he knew his drums, as well as I knew him. He knew that by lightly scratching his stubby nails along the small of my back I wouldn’t be able to hold back the groan of pleasure it produced. Knew that by sucking on my earlobe while running his thumb over the head of my aching cock I would shudder and grip him harder. Knew that by planting his soft, hot mouth on my back, licking at the base of my neck I would pull him around to me, demanding to let me take him. That was his spot, the one place I allowed no one but him to touch intimately. Even the gentle brush of his fingers was enough to set me off, and he knew it.

Fuck, I was his as much as he was mine.

Still on the stool, I held him against me, his back against my chest now, his ass pressed against my dick. I wanted him so badly. He stood, trembling slightly, between my thighs as I ran my hands over his chest, thumbs flicking at his hardened nipples, down over his flat belly and into the wiry hair between his legs. I cupped his balls in one hand and took his cock with my other, sliding my hand along its length, slowly. He leaned back against me and groaned, his hands digging into my thighs hard enough to leave marks. I nibbled and nuzzled along his neck, letting my hands fondle and tease, almost maddened by the pressure of his ass on my cock.

“Want inside you,” I whispered raggedly next to his ear. Control? Hah! Any control left to me I’d lost the moment he’d ground his mouth on mine. His head turned and I found my bottom lip caught between his teeth. I growled, low and appreciatively.

He pulled away from me and headed to the other side of the studio. I watched him fish around the sports bag he kept behind his drum kit, my arms feeling oddly empty without his body to wrap them around. Even in the dim light, I could make out the marks my hands and mouth had left on his skin. They would fade eventually, I realised -– and I wished for a way to put my mark on him permanently. I didn’t want to share any more. Like a child, what was mine was mine, no discussion.

As he walked back to me with that springy, filled-with-coiled-energy step he had, his eyes hot as they met mine, I knew I was going to have to compromise. I didn’t like it; fuck, I hated it. I couldn’t give him what he truly wanted, but I could give him enough for him to be content. It was all I could allow myself. He handed me the tube of lubricant and lifted his hand to touch his fingers to that one spot, his one spot. He leaned his head in until I could feel his breath, warm on my cheek.

“Just say the word, Jamie.” He nuzzled along the side of my face, those fingers tracing small, light circles at the base of my neck, sending sparks of electricity through me. Fuck, he was making me crazy! He pressed his body along the length of my arm and I could feel the hardness of his cock brush against my hip. My eyes closed and I groaned.

“Consider it said,” I whispered and searched out his mouth hungrily.

I took him then. Took him there over the damned stool. He was as aggressive as I was, drawing my dick inside him eagerly even as I pushed past his entrance. His gasping, throaty cries mingled with my groans as he came, both our hands wrapped together around his dick. God, he was so fucking tight around me that it didn’t take long for me to shoot my own wad into him, snarling at the explosive release. I think I even cried out a single word. “Mine.” Like a fucking two-year old.

But afterwards, there was a peace. A small stillness within me, where before there had only been pain, anger and resentment. He had his oasis, and I, apparently, had claimed mine.

The next day, I wrote the lyrics for “Until It Sleeps”.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks go out to Ang for another terrific beta! And on a side note - this story started out as my anniversary challenge fic - Seduction of a Straight Man - told from Bob Rock's POV. MY, how it's changed!


End file.
